


Sick Day

by sterlingstars



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Schmoop, Sickfic, but he doesn't mind, foggy is the ultimate soccer mom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-24 16:26:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4926763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sterlingstars/pseuds/sterlingstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Foggy gets a call from Matt first thing in the morning that he has "the sniffles", he knows much better than Matt thinks he does. Cue one Foggy Nelson to the rescue. Really, he should win an award for best boyfriend/babysitter. He's earned that title. (It helps that Matt can really pull Foggy's sweaters off, too.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sick Day

Matt Murdock is a man who manages to take care of himself well enough. He gets on just fine, thank you very much, and he doesn't really need that much help. 

Well, that's what _he_ thinks, anyway.

See, Foggy knows better. Much better, in fact, than Matt likes to give him credit for, most of the time, stubborn jackass that he is. He knows, for a fact, that Matt is actually pretty terrible at taking care of himself. The primary example of this is that he has a nurse on call on a burner phone, who he ends up needing to call much more often than Foggy is personally comfortable with. And besides that, Foggy lived with the guy long enough in college to know that he has the self-preservation skills of a toddler. 

So, for all he says, Foggy knows that when Matt calls him on a Tuesday morning with “the sniffles” and tells him he can't make it to work, he knows better. Much better, in fact, because Matt Murdock is not a man that would allow himself to miss work over some sniffling and extra snot.

This is how he ends up at Matt's apartment with a bundle of medicine and other sicktime needs, like the babysitter he pretends not to be but actually is. Karen has seen his special bag, stuffed with medicines and soup mixes and other things, and has dubbed it his “mom bag”. Really, he doesn't mind that all that much- if taking care of his idiot boyfriend means getting called a soccer mom by his secretary, he can deal. He's had worse, anyway. 

When he lets himself into the apartment, Matt just grunts from somewhere inside, and he rolls his eyes. Leave it to Murdock to be ten times sicker than what he says. How this man is still alive sometimes completely baffles Foggy, because- self-preservation skills of a toddler. 

He makes his way further into the apartment to find a Matt shaped lump on the bed, swathed in extra blankets. He pokes the pile and gets a pathetic groan in response.

“Sniffles, huh?”

“Shhtup,” he hears from under the blanket pile, and he allows himself another generous eye roll.

The bag gets set down, and he walks back over to the bed, gently peeling back the layers of blankets to reveal Matt's face. His nose and eyes are red, his lips the dark pink they always get when he's sick, and his face looks a little flushed. His hair looks like a tornado swept through it, and even though he's wearing a long-sleeved shirt and is under every blanket he owns, he's shivering.

He cracks an eye open, then two, blinking slowly. Not that it makes much of a difference, anyway. Foggy scoffs, and presses a very gentle kiss to Matt's forehead.

“Just as I thought,” he says. “You've got a fever. You been throwing up, too?”

Matt nods weakly, and Foggy shakes his head, clucking his tongue. He runs a hand through Matt's hair, getting some of it out of his face, and sighs.

“Matty, why didn't you call me sooner?”

“Thought it wasn't s'bad,” he mumbles, his voice soft and a little slurred with his fatigue. 

“Well, it's bad. Nothing a little classic Foggy Nelson tlc can't fix, though!” He smiles warmly. “Don't you worry your pretty, stubborn little head- I'm going to make things at least marginally better.”

“Don't have to,” Matt whispers. 

Foggy sighs loudly. “Uh, yeah, I do. First, because it would kind of make me a shit boyfriend slash best friend if I didn't, and second, if I don't then _you_ certainly aren't going to, and you'll probably die in this blanket pile, never to be seen again; and then what would Hell's Kitchen do without you to run around in that fetish gear of yours and punch people in the face? Collapse into utter chaos. You see where I'm going with this?”

Matt manages to roll his eyes and put his lips into his signature pout.

“Don't be so dramatic,” he croaks. “And it's not fetish gear, you prick.”

“I know- but it's so much fun to call it that.”

Matt grumbles into his pillow. Foggy gives a small smile of triumph, and gets to work. He takes his bag into the kitchen, where he gets out pots and pans, and gets ready to make his mom's recipe for chicken soup. It's a recipe that has proved its worth time and time again, and Foggy's sure it'll help Matt feel better. 

Once everything is cooking, he makes his way back into the bedroom, where he peels the blankets off of Matt. Matt shoots him a death glare, but he's having none of that. 

“You need a shower,” Foggy says sternly. “Or even just a hot bath. It'll help you feel better, I swear. Also, you smell like sweat and puke, which is totally gross. Also the steam should clear your sinuses, Mr. Sniffles.”

Matt groans, but allows Foggy to help him out of the bed. Foggy holds onto his waist, and they shuffle into the bathroom together. Foggy starts to undress Matt, who just moves accordingly to allow his clothes to be peeled off of him. The poor guy's sweating, but he's covered in goosebumps. Foggy turns on the shower, and keeps it nice and warm, before helping Matt in.

“Think you can handle this one, buddy?”

“Stay,” Matt whines, forehead resting against Foggy's chest.

And, well, there's no saying no to that.

He rolls up his sleeves and has Matt stand under the water for a little while before squirting some shampoo into his hands. Matt turns around and Foggy lathers it into his hair, gently massaging his scalp. Matt moans a little, shoulders slumping, and Foggy smiles. There are some simple things in life that he takes great pleasure in- and making Matt feel good, even just by washing his hair, is one of them. 

He rinses out the shampoo, and takes a washcloth. He washes Matt's back for him, and at this point the poor guy is nearly boneless. He seems a little better, in the heat and steam, and Foggy considers that a victory for the day. 

“I'll leave the rest of this to you,” he says. “I have to go check on the soup. Try not to fall or anything, alright?”

He kisses Matt's forehead, even though he's pouting at him again, and makes his way back into the kitchen. There's plenty to do there, and he eventually hears the water turn off in the shower.

“I put clothes on your bed!” Foggy calls, his focus on the soup. 

He's cutting carrots when he hears Matt's feet on the floors, and smiles to himself. Leave it to this idiot to come stand in the kitchen when he's suceptible to sneeze/cough/vomit on the food. 

Foggy turns around to look at Matt and ban him from entering the kitchen, but his heart kind of melts and he forgets what he was going to say. Matt is in Foggy's Columbia sweatshirt- the one he wore over, on top of his t-shirt. He's got on the pair of pajama pants Foggy laid out, as well as a pair of socks, but it's the sweater that gets him. It's about three sizes too big for him, the sleeves going a little past his hands, the hem hitting his thighs. His hair is rumpled and wet, and he just looks.... He looks _adorable_.

And if Foggy just isn't the luckiest bastard in the world.

“Go on and take a seat, sweater thief,” he says with a chuckle. “Soup should be done soon. Want anything to drink?”

“Some water would be good,” Matt croaks as he sits on the couch. 

Foggy fills a glass and hands it to him. Unable to help himself, he smooths some of Matt's hair back and kisses his forehead. Matt hums softly, a little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Foggy smiles widely, himself, and kisses his forehead again, and then both his cheeks.

He still marvels at the fact that he gets to do this, and every time he gets to kiss Matt is always a fun, thrilling experience. So really, it's not _entirely_ his fault when he then proceeds to plant little warm kisses all over Matt's face. Matt laughs, and pulls him closer, hands around his waist and his face buried against Foggy's stomach. He hums contentedly, and Foggy grins, running his fingers through Matt's damp, messy curls. 

“You're a spoiled brat, Murdock,” Foggy teases.

“But I'm your spoiled brat,” he says into Foggy's shirt.

“True enough.” 

He chuckles and kisses the top of Matt's head before making his way back into the kitchen to finish up the soup. He spoons a small amount into a bowl for Matt, and sets it on the little table. He grabs some crackers and refills his water, as well, before serving himself. Matt sits down and gives Foggy this warm, charming grin, and Foggy's sure he's about to spend the rest of the night scraping his heart off the floor.

He makes sure Matt takes it slow, since he hasn't had anything since the last time he threw up, and when they're finished, he steers Matt back to the bed. He goes down surprisingly easily, but he seems more sluggish, now that he has some food in his system. He's had Matt swallow down some pills to help reduce his fever, and he's still a little warm, so he puts a cool washcloth over his forehead and reduces some of the blankets from the pile he was under earlier in the day. 

Matt sort of looks up at Foggy, and his hands are clumsy as he reaches for him. 

“Lay down with me,” he mumbles. “Keep me warm.”

He just knows all of Foggy's weak spots. Foggy has no problems obliging him, and slides in on the other side of the bed, diving under the blankets and scooping Matt into his arms. Matt's still shivering a little, buried as he is in Foggy's sweater and his pile of blankets, and Foggy makes sure to hold him tightly. Purely for warmth. This is definitely all medical. 

He kisses Matt's cheek, sighing softly.

“You're so warm,” Matt groans, and he sticks his hands under Foggy's shirt, sighing when they hit his warm skin. 

“You're still fevered, but do you feel at least a little better? How's your stomach holding up?”

Matt nods. “It feels okay. I think I can keep it down.”

“Good,” he says. “I'll have you know I shall be very offended if you throw up my soup.”

“Your mom would kick my ass,” Matt whispers against Foggy's neck, where he's buried his face. “Her mom senses would tingle, she would know someone had a bad reaction to her recipe, and she would come for me. Daredevil, put out of commission by Laura Nelson, angry housewife and newly turned murderer.”

Foggy laughs. “He'd never see it coming, the poor bastard. She'd knock him out with her trusted wooden spoon, and it would all go downhill from there. If she doesn't break it on those stupid horns, though.”

Foggy laughs again as Matt weakly hits him on the arm.

“The horns are aesthetically pleasing,” he says. “They go with my look.”

“I mean, if you're _into_ that kind of thing, Matt...” Foggy says teasingly, leaving the sentence hang. 

Matt grumbles into his neck, and Foggy laughs. He enjoys teasing Matt about his costume far more than he probably should, but for all his complaining, he takes it pretty well. Besides, sometimes he blushes when Foggy makes a comment about it, and it's really fucking cute. Matt blushing isn't a thing that happens all that often, but when it does, it's a pretty fantastic sight. 

Foggy presses a soft apology kiss to Matt's hair, and he snuggles into him, somehow burying his face even further into Foggy's neck. He kisses Foggy's neck, very softly, and Foggy smiles.

“Feeling warmer?”

“Mmm.”

He chuckles and rubs Matt's back in soft, soothing circles. The poor guy's out like a light within the next five minutes, and Foggy decides that they're just going to sleep in and let Karen have the day off tomorrow. 

Sick days are fun, sometimes.


End file.
